


Collateral Damage

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied past torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ransom, Trauma, Whump, double amputee Yuuri, trau
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: Vent fic drabbles with no real plot, just horrible things happen followed by lots of hurt/comfort and recovery.Yuuri doesn't come home from training one night, and Viktor's life changes forever when he breaks another of Yakov's rules and finds Yuuri on the front stoop. Delayed ransom negotiations ended in Yuuri paying dearly,  his limbs taken along with his easy smile and loving gaze. But Viktor vowed his life and love to Yuuri on their wedding day, and that means figuring out their new lie together, no matter how hard it is.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it obvious that this is not mutilation kink, 'Kill Your Gays' tripe or in any way a crime related to Yuuri being gay in in-world. This is purely angst/ hurt-comfort and following a brain worm. Yuuri is a very dear character to me, and a lot of my works deal with Bad Things Happen To Yuuri, and Things Get Better. The motivation of the crime-committers will not be delved into that deeply, other than it was 110% based on getting money from Russia's richest athlete.
> 
> There is no over-arching plot, just small drabbles going around the struggles of adjusting and dealing with what happened. I may write more, I may not. (hopefully I don't need vent fic as much in the future....)
> 
> Thanks for reading, please take care of yourself.

The apartment was quiet without Yuuri. Viktor rarely spent an hour without Yuuri-- his role as a coach meant Viktor followed Yuuri on business trips. Viktor was popular enough that sponsors bent to his will...that, or they wanted Yuuri too. 

So ten hours without Yuuri was painful.

Viktor had waited an hour past the usual time Yuuri came home from crosstraining. Sometimes Yuuri went grocery shopping on his way home, or went out of his way to buy flowers.

But Yakov said over the phone Yuuri had went right home after training with Yuratchka. Then Yuuri didn’t pick up the phone. He didn’t pick up after thirty calls.

The next call had been to the police. Viktor hadn’t waited for them, pulling on his coat and running out onto the street to find Yuuri’s tiny dot on the Find My Iphone app. The snow was several centimeters deep and it was still falling. It covered Yuuri’s phone, leaving a small bump in the snowdrift in the mouth of an alley in downtown Piter.

Viktor found the phone, but not the owner. He swept the alleyway clean with his bare hands, until the police arrived and hauled him up off his knees by his collar.

Yakov and Yuri came to Viktor’s apartment-- probably at command of the police to keep him inside. Makkachin sat halfway on Viktor’s lap as it ticked 3 am and Viktor stared at his phone sleeplessly.

“Sleep.” Yakov grunted. Yuri had nodded off in a chair an hour before, tired from a long day of training. How tired was Yuuri?

“I have to be up when he comes home,” Viktor croaked. His mouth was dry, but he didn’t want to leave the couch. It smelled like Yuuri-- it was covered with the blanket he cuddled in when he played his video games. His slippers were still by the door. 

Yakov didn’t say anything. He didn’t stop Viktor from making another pot of coffee. He watched the news, volume turned low. Makkachin’s snores were louder, but not quite loud enough to drown out Viktor’s ring tone.

At 12 hours past due, Viktor’s phone buzzed with a text. It was a google voice number-- the prefix from another part of Russia

68 million rubles for return

Viktor’s throat closed. He was rich, but he didn’t have that much money laying around. His worth may make him a millionaire in America, but that was counting a decade of contracts, advertising deals, the condo he owned and the expensive car he kept at his parent’s home. He maybe had 10 million rubles in his bank account, and Yuuri had access to and that he never used.

Okay, where do i send it

Viktor typed back, his hands shaking. Someone had Yuuri. They sent a cryptocurrency link soon after.

“Someone has him, Yakov.” Viktor barely felt the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. Someone took him for money. Viktor’s money. It was his fault Yuuri was taken. He should have been there-- thrown his wallet at them and gone home safe.

In the end. Viktor couldn’t fight when the police came into his apartment and took his phone to trace the text message. He could barely breath, his world swimming and twisting in front of him.

“I have to get the money-- Yakov, I need to call my sponsors--”

“Vitya, you listen. You don’t need to get the money. You negotiate. We are taking care of it.”

“I don’t need the money-- I need Yuuri.”

~

“Yuuri wants you to eat.” Mila pushed the bowl of soup across the coffee table. She just started her shift of Viktor duty. He hadn’t slept since Yuuri went missing-- three days with only short naps that he never committed to and only brought on by exhaustion.

“He’s not here.” Viktor growled, his eyes red and cheek cold against the top of the table. 

“You won’t be healthy enough to greet him when he comes home.” Mila bit her bottom lip. It had been four days. The police had tried to get more information.

Whoever had Yuuri had replied to the money games by sending a bloody package. That was the day Yakov decided Viktor would not leave his apartment. He had two guards stationed at his door, but he didn’t need them. He wasn’t the one in danger.  
~  
Viktor broke the rules on the seventh night. He went outside.

No one would ever blame him for it.

Something had drawn him-- the tear-blurred brake lights. The sudden stop and squeal of breaks as it took off.

There was a package. Viktor’s hand shook, numb in the cold-- he had come down in his pajamas, slipped on some sneakers that were already growing wet. Viktor tore at the paper tape-- the box was as big as the one Makka’s travel crate had come in. Viktor’s throat tore, his rib cage ripped open with a scream when he pulled the top open and smelled Yuuri’s blood. He was folded up, his chest wrapped with rags and stained crimson, his bare feet bruised and limp against the cardboard. A rag was forced between his teeth and tied around his head, but his face was slack.  
Viktor’s voice could only form the name of his husband-- he pulled him out of the box, lights turning on his building. The second shift guards arrived, running down from their parking spot down the street. They were the ones who tore the gag from Yuuri’s mouth. They called for help over radios, but Viktor just cradled Yuuri in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, my Yuuri,” Viktor sobbed. Yuuri took one breath for every three of his own. He didn’t squeeze his eyes shut at the ambulance lights. His gaze, far away and heavy-lidded, did not focus. But Yuuri breathed.

The paramedics pulled Yuuri from him. He pushed his way into the ambulance, watching as they cut dirty and blood-soaked gauze from around Yuuri. His face was bruised and swollen, his toes pink from the cold. He was most likely drugged-- calm and still as they cut his clothing off. He didn’t fight the tube forced down his throat. Viktor shook, his stomach heaving.

They had hurt him. Worse than that-- they had tortured him. They had barely the courtesy to tie tourniquets at his shoulders. It had kept him alive long enough to paramedics to feed IVs and needles into his neck.

He had no arms left-- the exact details too horrific to process. Enough that Viktor was left along at the hospital while Yuuri was taken for surgery.

Twenty minutes later, Yakov forced Viktor into a bathroom and scrubbed the blood from his hands. His shirt was replaced by scrubs, Yakov yanking his arms up and down like he was a toddler. Viktor stared at the mirror above the sink, then stared at the status screen until Yuuri’s number blinked over into recovery, and then the ICU.

The sun was up, and the surgeon told Viktor that Yuuri would be fully awake and stable. But that had been a lie.

His eyes were so empty. He looked so small, propped up in a hospital bed, his fresh bandages covered by a blue gown. He didn't focus ,even when Viktor sank to his knees next to his bed. There were no knuckles to kiss. His eyes barely moved when Viktor cupped his soft cheeks in his hands. His hair was still dirty, greasy and clumped together with dried blood. The grime had been wiped from his skin, and his bare feet covered with blue socks. 

“Yuuri--” His name broke on his tongue before it dissolved into a keen. His lungs burned as he cried, Yuuri’s face cupped in his hands, his eyes closed and dark eyelashes on his cheeks,

“Vitya,” Yuuri’s voice cracked, soft and barely there. It was his first and last word for his entire hospital stay. Viktor was pulled away when Yuuri’s tears set off alarms, his oxygen saturation dropping as his whole body shook.

~

Viktor trailed the team of orderlies as they wheeled Yuuri’s bed from recovery to a more permanent room on the trauma floor. They had given him medication to calm him, with the side effect of drowsiness. He dozed as they hooked him up into a private room, and Viktor stared. He hadn’t slept in days, dark circles under his eyes matching the bruises on his jaw line. His brow was pinched, even as he slept… something Viktor had never seen before. Yuuri opened up when he slept-- he drooled, yes, and looked like an angel doing it.. But he also sleep-talked, and relaxed in slumber. Or, at least he used to.

Yakov came in the room at some point, taking Viktor’s hands and wrapping them around a paper coffee cup. The sun was up, rising without Viktor’s noticing or care. He stroked Yuuri’s cheek, watched his eyelashes flutter.

“Are you hungry?” He whispered, grateful for the miniscule shift in Yuuri’s empty gaze. He opened his mouth, his tongue dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth. Viktor held out the cup-- thankful for the plastic sippy-cup lid as he tipped it to Yuuri’s lips. He took a sip, and then another, until the cup was mostly empty.

“That was for you, Vitya. He doesn’t need caffeine.” Yakov’s voice was gentle. Maybe the energy in the room demanded the hush, or maybe Viktor looked just that fragile.

“I know it was mostly milk and sugar anyway.” Viktor smiled, running his finger along the top of the lid. It was still hot from the contents and Yuuri’s lips. “Call the kitchen?”  
Viktor cautiously crawled into the bed next to Yuuri, abandoning the cup on the tiny wheely table meant for Yuuri. Even the rush of sugar and coffee didn’t help Yuuri’s exhaustion. Viktor could tell that his heart rate was still high-- it had been higher before they gave him anxiety medication. The machines screamed it, and Viktor felt it in his rib cage when he gingerly cradled Yuuri close. Yuuri tucked himself into Viktor’s shoulder, his breath soft and heart rate calming bit by bit.  
Viktor wasn’t sure who was comforting who.  
~  
They slept together until late afternoon. Vikot helped the nurse wash Yuuri’s hair in a plastic basin, his bed covered in a plastic sheet. He brushed his bangs off Yuuri’s forehead, staring into his far-away gaze. Yuuri could seem to be directly looking at him without seeing him at all. He barely moved, and only ate when Viktor put a spoon to his lips after the kitchens delivered a hearty soup and pudding. He didn’t seem to have the energy to chew, caught off in a seperate world.

Yuuri had been deemed a fall risk, but they had agreed to let Yuuri wash his hair. Or rather, listened to Viktor’s request. Viktor massaged his husband’s scalp, finding only relief at the shiver that ran down Yuuri’s spine. The soap smelled like dandruff shampoo-- medical and ugly. Not like Yuuri’s awful 2-in-1 GATSBY shampoo that Hiroko sent in a box every other month. Yuuri wouldn’t smell like cedar, but it was better than the alternative. He toweled Yuuri’s hair dry with a cloth torn from plastic wrapping, and brushed it with a blue plastic comb. Viktor caught himself brushing it back off his forehead, just like he did for competition and galas. His throat closed at the sudden realization that this Yuuri… the one laying on the bed and staring through him… would not compete in the next event. May not compete again. Would the JSF support a double amputee? Would Yuuri even be able to skate safely, catch himself before his head hits the ice?

It was the first time since Yuuri went missing that Viktor thought of the future. His world had rolled to a stop, and now Yuuri was back , with his body mangled and glass heart shattered.  
Viktor hadn’t prepared himself for this. He hadn’t prepared for anything-- in the off chance that a negative thought would birth a butterfly effect and harm Yuuri. But it turned out that Viktor didn’t need to plan anything in order to be the cause of Yuuri’s pain.

~

Yuuri sat on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor and his sleeves empty. A nurse had helped him into his t-shirt and sweats from home, had rolled on the blue non-slip socks onto his feet. Viktor had fed him breakfast-- a chocolate nutritional shake and small bites of blini. He had to endure the physical therapist talking over him to Viktor, telling him how to adapt their apartment, how to help him go to the bathroom. The therapist was too cheerful-- rambling on about tables and adapted spoons, on how they could work on Yuuri’s flexibility to switch using his feet for daily life tasks.

All he had to do was walk around the trauma floor, and he could go home.

Home to Makkachin, home to a place where Viktor could get a decent nights sleep and food that didn’t rack up an already astronomical hospital bill.

Viktor needed to be home.

Yuuri stood--slowly at first. It had been at least week since he had the space to stand. His knee twinged with the memory of the injury he had given it on the dark snowy street while trying to get away. The hospital floor was bigger than the walk to the bathroom, so much bigger that it felt daunting. But Viktor wormed an arm around Yuuri’s waist, carefuly to avoid his bandages. 

“Davai, Yuuri.” Viktor whispered into his ear. His voice grounded Yuuri-- brought him out of the space he had created to avoid the reality of where he had been taken to. 

He almost smiled, hiding his face, his glasses knocking against Viktor’s chest.

“Can I help? Scratch an itch?” Viktor’s returned smile was fragile as he held out a hand and Yuuri nudged his face against it, his glasses sliding back up his nose. Yuuri pressed his cheek into Viktor’s hand and closed his eyes. He was thankful that Viktor had learned some of his language, and leaned down to kiss him tenderly. 

“We need to see him walking on his own,” the nurse coughed when they took their first step together. Viktor awkwardly stepped back, feeling empty as he trailed Yuuri around the perimeter of the building. He could walk fine-- his neurological tests were fine-- Yuuri himself was not okay. He stared at his sneakers when they rolled him out of the hospital anyway. Yuuri sat in Viktor’s front seat, turning to buckle himself before he froze. Viktor did it a second later--- without a moment of thought.

He felt like a child, unable to feed himself, brush his hair, get dressed or even buckle himself into a car. 

He couldn't even wipe his face dry as hot angry tears fell from his eyes and into his lap. Viktor was driving and didn’t notice-- not that Yuuri wanted him to. 

Viktor seemed to sense Yuuri’s need for space. He took the bag of sterile gauze and tape they provided for dressing changes out of the back seat and nearly forgot to help Yuuri out of the front seat. 

“Yura got your phone back from evidence.” Viktor babbled as the reached the front door of their apartment. Makkachin scratched at the front door, the noise even more frantic after a snuffling noise told them that Makkachin could smell her second daddy. Viktor opened the door and Makkachin burst out. Yuuri sat in the doorwa and the poodle immediately crawled over his lap to lick at his face.

“Makka, be careful!” Viktor yelled, shocking himself at the volume of his voice. Both his husband and poodle stared at him, stricken. But Viktor quickly moved from shame to relief-- Yuuri looked present, if only for a moment.

Yuuri moved and sat under the kotatsu they had set up in front of the TV-- the low table was a blessing now. Viktor fluttered around the apartment, grabbing Yuuri’s phone off the charger and setting it on top of the table while Yuuri nuzzled Makkachin and accepted puppy kisses from her.

When Viktor came back to the living room ten minutes later, the phone was where Viktor had put it, and Yuuri’s cheek rested against the table, his eyes reverting back to the distant gaze.

“Are you okay, Yuuri?” Stupid question. He wasn’t okay, obviously. But Yuuri was always playing a game or something on his phone.

“I can’t use it.” Yuuri mumbled, his breath fogging the glossy top of the table.

Viktor frowned, worrying his bottom lip before he went to the kitchen. There was The Drawer-- the one place Yuuri was not allowed to mess with. He had opened it the first week after he had moved in, and had spent an hour trying to organize it before Viktor managed to drag him away.

It was supposed to be for pots and pans, but it held everything that betrayed Viktor’s pristine environment. He pulled the drawer open and pulled out a tangle of old credential lanyards-- only the ones from their competitions he and Yuuri together. He fought with the knot of cotton and rubber cords until he pulled out the set that had been sponsored by a tech company. They had given all competitors a rubber lanyard designed to wrap around a phone case and hug it by the corners. Vktor had kept them because it was the first item with Katsuki-Nikiforov printed on it. But now it would be an extra hand for Yuuri.

He pulled out the mass of Saga branded charms keychains he had been gifted during their last visit, looking for anything else that would be useful. The Drawer was a miracle worker-- Viktor used it to find bottle openers and the pen he had used to sign Yuuri’s first big contract.

He pulled out a plastic-wrapped stylus pen from a corner of the drawer with a grandiose and triumphant gesture. 

“Here.” Viktor plopped down next to Yuuri on the floor, ripping the plastic wrapping off. “Before they had conductive wire in gloves, we’d use stylus pens. You can... “

Viktor frowned. Yuuri was insanely flexible, but he was still healing. They weren’t at the feet-hands step. But Yuuri lifted it head and bit the top of the pen. Viktor relished the relative focus it took for Yuuri to try it out-- to push the home button and tap in his pass code. But it worked. Yuuri opened his camera app, went to photos and swiped past the pictures of Makkachin laying on the couch, the multiple shots of their sunday breakfast, swiped until he hit their last photo together. Viktor had his arms around Yuuri, who held the phone at an arms length to take the selfie, the background full of brightly colored flowers. Yuuri’s free hand rested on top of Viktor’s, their rings catching the light beautifully.

The stylus dropped from Yuuri’s teeth.

“My ring,” His voice trembled, the tears coming before he even blinked.

“I---I’m sure its somewhere--” Viktor panicked- Yuuri’s shoulders drew upward, his breathing loud and uneven.

“I n-n-eed my ring.” Yuuri’s voice came out more of a wail. 

“We’ll find it-- soon-- it’s not like you can wear it right now anyway--”

Stupid. Stupid thing to say. Yuuri’s heart of glass shattered again, Viktor could see it in his eyes. 

“Yuuri---” Viktor reached for him but Yuuri flinched away. He scooted out from the table, awkwardly moving to his feet when Viktor grabbed for his waist.

Yuuri went immediately boneless, but it was the shriek and strangled words on Yuuri’s lips that terrified Viktor the most.

“Ne ubivay,” 

Yuuri was begging not to be killed.


	2. A moment

Viktor pulled back as if he had touched a hot stove. He had caused Yuuri to beg for his life with a single careless movement. He watched helpless as Yuuri started to hyperventilate, the words stuck on repeat from trembling lips. Tears spilled from his eyes freely and dripped onto the floor.

Viktor’s hands shook, held in front of him as if they were dirty. Yuuri’s chest seized with panic-- he was barely breathing, the words disappearing into gasps for breath.

“Yurachka, call for a medic.” Yakov said calmly from the front door. He set down the towel-wrapped ceramic dish on the table they had just been sitting at not long before. Viktor knew Yakov had a key, but he hadn’t realized or heard him enter.

“Sit, Vitenka.” Yakov put a firm hand on his arm. He sunk into the couch without question-- he felt left-of center of his body. He didn’t want to be grounded-- not when his grounded self had done...that… to Yuuri. Time became fuzzy, and Viktor felt like he was underwater. He barely noticed Yakov helping holding an oxygen mask to his face. Why was he wearing one? Yuuri needed it more… But.. oh.. Yuuri was sitting up, a mask on his face and and his shirt on the floor next to him. He had bled through his bandages-- maybe tore a stitch or staple. The calm was paper thin as the paramedics peeled bandage and gauze back as he sat obediently and stared blankly through them.

“Yuuri--” Viktor moved to sit up, but Yakov blocked him from getting up off the cough. Viktor tried to protest, but his mouth was dry, and when he licked his lips he tasted blood.

“Sit, Vitya. You were panicking too.” Yakov said in the same firm, fatherly tone. 

“I’ll sit next to him.” Viktor grunted, and oddly, Yakov obliged. Viktor slid to the floor and scooted along the hardwood until he sat next to Yuuri. Viktor tried to put together the words for an apology-- something to say to bring his Yuuri back from his empty gaze and the fog of each breath. But Yuuri rested his head against Viktor’s shoulder, his hair tickling Viktor’s neck. Forgiveness. Viktor felt something inside himself crack open, something cold and painful but smothering at the same time.

“I’m so sorry.” He slid his arm around Yuuri’s slim waist. Yuuri nuzzled into his sleeve, his tear stained skin dragging against the cotton knit. Yuuri slowly -- carefully crawled into Viktor’s lap,half of his face wiped clean from Viktor’s sleeve. Viktor cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands,wiped his face dry and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“I’ll be your hands.” Viktor whispered. “Your tissue… your anything.” His eyes felt strange and prickly. “You’re already my heart. You know?”

Yuuri’s eyes seemed to focus more with Viktor’s touch-- careful kisses, threading fingers through hair. Viktor didn’t dare touch the gauze that wrapped around his shoulders to the end of his rib cage. The medics left without Viktor’s notice. Viktor didn’t notice much of anything until Yuri handed him a plate--- a sweet dessert of baked peaches and brown sugar. Yuri scooped another serving from the wrapped dish Yakov had carried in, but Viktor didn’t wait. He scooped up a spoonful and held it to Yuuri’s lips. He opened them to protest, but Viktor knew he wouldn’t one he tasted it and the sweet, thick syrup on the bottom of the spoon.

Viktor shared the plate- and the spoon with Yuuri without a single comment from Yuri about how disgusting and lovey they were being. Yuri seemed shook up himself, sitting at the opposite end of the coffee table.

“He needs his pain medicine.” Viktor said when the peach cobbler was done and a mug of hot black tea emptied. Despite being ten minutes late for his next dose, Yuuri was calm and drowsy, cradled against Viktor’s chest. Viktor knew panic attacks exhausted him-- he felt it in his own bones too. 

“Thank you.” He took the proffered orange bottle, pulled out Yuuri’s dose and slipped it between his soft lips. Yuuri obediently took a drink of water from the straw before closing his eyes again.

“Thank you for coming… but I don’t think I have…”

“Go to bed, Vitya. Enough of the pleasantries. We’ll be on the way once we finish cooking Lilia’s stew.”

Viktor carried Yuuri to the bedroom, laying him on top of the sheets before he tried to pull them out and over his husband. He was further thwarted by Makkachin jumping onto the side Viktor usually occupied. Yuuri almost laughed when Viktor grunted and Makka decided it was a game to lay on every spot daddy put his hands on.

“My teeth,” Yuuri’s voice was soft and careful when Viktor finally figured out how to pull the blankets out from under his two most beloved. “If its bed time..”

“I’ll get your brush and a cup of water.” Viktor jumped up.

“I can walk.” Yuuri mumbled, kicking off the sheets belaboredly. He followed Viktor into the bathroom, watching with haunted eyes as Viktor wet the brush under the faucet and squeezed toothpaste onto it. He opened his mouth obediently-- Viktor had to slouch to get at the right angle-- feeling awful when he got careless and made Yuuri gag while brushing his back teeth.

“Shall we wash your face?” Viktor hummed-- he pulled a cotton washcloth from the basket and turned the faucet until the water was warmer. Viktor had his own face wash serum, but Yuuri was blessed with good skin, and the moisturizers of his own routine would be too much. So Viktor just used warm water and admired Yuuri’s dark eyelashes and utter trust in him. The first night they had spent together Yuuri had ran away to the opposite side of the house-- but today Yuuri leaned in to him.

For a moment, Viktor could pretend his life was still perfect.


End file.
